Holding On
by LCFC
Summary: After averting the Apocalypse - Dean loses Sam in the most terrible of ways...
1. Chapter 1

The clinic was small, intimate and smart. The walls were painted a tasteful ochre and the curtains were billowy and -cut text="Read more"

Dean sat in the waiting room on one of the comfortable leather chairs. Sam sat beside him, his shoulders slumped a little. Sam was shaking and Dean bit his lip reaching out for Sam's hand.

Sam turned his head then and gave Dean a wide – but scared – smile and grabbed Dean's hand wrapping his big fingers around Dean's own, holding on tight as if he would never let go.

Several of the other 'clients', patients – whatever or whoever they were stared at them and Dean felt his face flush. He had always been more than a little embarrassed by public displays of affection but he wouldn't – couldn't – let go of Sam's hand and he moved a little closer to his brother as if he could shield him from the world.

****

It seemed so unfair – after all these years – after Sam's death – Dean's stint in hell – Lucifer rising – the Apocalypse – that this should happen to them. They should be in some swanky hotel enjoying their 'retirement'. One or both of them should be married by now – married and raising a shitload of kids. Instead – instead a simple hunt – the easiest – had gone terribly wrong and Sam – Sam was paying the price.

****

How was Dean to know that a sharp knock on the head would lead to concussion and swelling on the brain. Sam had been fine; happy even – he had let Dean stitch him up, let Dean lay him down on the bed. He had taken his meds and wished Dean a goodnight.

Goodnight – the last thing Sam had ever said – the last time Dean had heard his brother's voice – the last time Sam had actually been 'in the building'.

Now – now Sam was gone – well the old Sam at least – now Dean had a whole new Sam to cope with and – to be fucking honest – Dean wasn't coping too well thank you very much….

****

"Mr Winchester?" A nurse, smart in her white dress, her red hair tucked into her pristine and pressed cap, "the doctor will see you now."

Dean nodded and got to his feet, gently pulling Sam up, waiting as Sam adjusted to standing, walking slowly and carefully so that Sam didn't trip over his own feet.

On the surface Sam looked just the same as he always had. Big broad shoulders, slim waist, taut abs and a flat stomach. He still had those obscenely long legs, stupid floppy hair and dimples. Women still stared at him, went ga ga over him and he still looked – well – normal.

On the outside Sam was a thirty year old man – tall – muscular and capable but on the inside – on the inside Sam was just a child.

Dean swallowed down the bile and pain in his throat. Beside him Sam was – as ever – silent. He clutched Dean's fingers in one big hand and Ted in the other. Dean could see the nurse glance – pityingly – at his huge brother holding tightly to a small scrap of yellow fur and he sighed – just another of life's ironies he guessed.

****

As a child Sam had never had many toys – never really formed an attachment for anything – not in one place long enough to have anyone to play with apart from Dean.

They had been in the hospital store when Sam had seen Ted. Just a tiny yellow bear with bright green eyes – Dean thought it was ugly – but Sam had pointed to it – clutched it to his chest and Dean had handed over the $5 it had cost and let Sam keep it.

So – at thirty – Sam Winchester had formed his first attachment and Dean didn't know whether to be ashamed or happy. Ted went everywhere with Sam and – aside from Dean – he was the only thing that Sam seemed to care about – that Sam seemed to love.

It was hard and it was getting harder and Dean didn't know if he could do this anymore…

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

** Then**

If Dean could change things then maybe he would have reacted differently that night; maybe he would have called 911 earlier – maybe he would have realised that something was seriously wrong with Sam. He remembered the screams of pain, Sam clutching his head, Dean asking over and over _'Is it a vision? What can you see?_'. Sam's eyes – pupils wide and dilated – rolling back in his head. Sam collapsing onto the bed and that awful silence.

The trip to ER had been hectic, awful, Sam's head limp on the stretcher, his hand in Dean's still and lifeless. Dean recalled words like **'Brain swelling, shunt, unresponsive'** and even thinking about it made him sick.

Afterwards he had gazed down at his brother's body, at his head wrapped in bandages, at his pale face and his slack mouth and he had wondered if he was going to see his brother alive again…

****

There were no deals; the demons were gone – sucked into hell with Lucifer as he was banished once more. The world was a more peaceful place now and Dean had been happy – happier than he had in years – one less evil thing for them to hunt – one less evil thing that wanted to fuck with his brother but now there were no demons and so no deal.

He had thought – often – about contacting Castiel. The angel had been taken back to heaven, leaving Dean with a dead tax accountant and a problem. They had buried Jimmy Novak in an unmarked grave in Pontiac and had contacted his family. Sam had laid flowers on the grave that day and Dean had called him a girl. It was that – simple banter between them – that Dean missed the most and continued to miss as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months – the Sam beside him nothing like the Sam he remembered.

****

**Now**

Sam sat on the doctor's examination table, hands clutching Ted, eyes fixed on Dean, panicked and desperate. The doctor shone a light in Sam's eyes, listened to his chest, looked in his ears. Sam was still, silent, almost catatonic but Dean could hear his harsh breathing, knew – even without words – that his brother was scared.

"We will need to do another scan," the doctor smiled at Dean and Dean attempted to smile back, "it will mean him staying overnight – but – you can stay with him – until we sedate him at least."

Dean nodded. He knew how bad Sam got when he was afraid, knew that Sam wouldn't let Dean out of his sight whilst he was conscious.

"Ok – sure," he tried to sound business-like, "do you think that…I mean…is there…?" He knew he sounded like an idiot, stumbling over his words, mouth dry.

The doctor took pity on him, patting his shoulder, professional but kind.

"I don't know Mr Winchester – he appears very healthy – blood and stats exactly what they should be in a man of his age. However – the damage to his brain was – as you know – quite bad. That sort of damage very rarely repairs itself – you should – you should prepare yourself for the worse."

Dean swallowed hard and sneaked a look at Sam. His brother was still on the table, bear in his hands, eyes fixed on Dean's face. Dean forced a smile and Sam's eyes lit up, his own mouth curving big and wide, dimples appearing.

"Come on sport," he said reaching out for Sam's hand, "let's get you ready."

*****

** Then**

When Sam had finally opened his eyes they were blank, unseeing. Tests showed that his brain had suffered massive pockets of damage due to fluid retention and although the shunt had saved Sam's life – it had not been able to save Sam's mind.

For the first few weeks Sam had been fed by IV, had to have a catheter fitted and had endured so many tests that Dean wanted to rip him out of the bed and run as far away as he could.

Bobby was close by and Dean stayed there; the older man was still in his wheelchair and looked older, tired. He hugged Dean and Dean had felt the wetness of Bobby's tears on his hair. Dean remembered whispering reassurances he himself didn't feel, telling Bobby that Sam would come out of this – that Sam was a Winchester – that surely God owed them something – surely after all they had done – God owed them a miracle.

Three months later and Dean's knees were sore through going down on them so often. God – it seemed – wasn't listening now anymore than he had during the Apocalypse and Dean – as usual – was on his own. He was exhausted, constant worry making it hard for him to sleep. He lost his appetite and he couldn't relax. He was wound tight – on edge and every time the phone rang he thought that it was the hospital to tell him that his brother was dead.

Sam began to respond; his eyes lit up when he saw Dean and – finally – he gave Dean that familiar dimpled smile. There were no words – but Dean didn't need them – Sammy was on his way back and Dean was going to be there every step of the way.

**Now**

Tears ran down Sam's cheeks as the nurse pressed the needle into his arm. He held on to Ted with one hand and to Dean with the other. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was messy and Dean couldn't resist brushing it back from Sam's face and pressing a gentle kiss onto his forehead.

As the sedative began to take hold Sam's lids began to droop and the bear dropped from his fingers. Dean picked up the threadbare, ugly little critter and placed it – carefully – by Sam's side – knowing Sam would look for it the moment he opened his eyes.

"You should go home and get some sleep Mr Winchester," the nurse said, softly, "he will be out of it till morning."

Dean nodded; his head ached and his back was sore. He glanced at Sam one more time and turned away, not wanting the nurse to see his tears.

He missed his brother – missed his bitch face – missed his constant questions – missed his stupid pranks and his constant research. Apart from Stanford and the mess with Ruby – they had never been away from each other – never been separated – always had each others backs.

Sometimes he blamed himself – he should have quit hunting – quit whilst they were ahead. He should have brought them a house – maybe gotten a dog. Now it was too late – much too late – and if he could have changed places with Sam he would have done it in an instant.

But he still loved his brother – and he always would – he wouldn't – couldn't leave Sam now and he could only hope that – one day – his brother would come back to him….

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Then**

At first they thought Sam wouldn't eat and then they realised he couldn't. lj-cut text="Read more"

Dean wanted to see frustration in his brother's eyes when his big hands couldn't hold the knife or fork that was given to him; he wanted to see anger in Sam, anger that he was unable to do this simple task for himself.

Instead Sam stared – vacantly – at the plate and Dean found himself picking up a spoon and mashing down the potatoes, holding the spoon up against Sam's mouth, relief obvious when Sam opened up and let Dean feed him.

Dean couldn't look at his brother; Sam had stubble on his chin and the food was catching in it and Dean had to tuck chestnut curls behind Sam's ear to stop his hair from hanging in the gravy. Dean found – if he looked into Sam's hazel eyes that he could pretend that Sam was a baby again – that Sam was his still his little brother – a brother that depended on Dean for everything. Sam ate obediently and when he had finished he let Dean clean him up and give him a drink.

That night Dean went back to Bobby's and wept for the first time; unable to hold back the tears, silent sobs shaking him, not wanting Bobby to see him without his game face on.

****

**Now**

Sam was sleepy, half awake, the bear tucked under his chin. He gave Dean a dopey smile and shuffled a little in the bed so that he was sitting up. Dean settled on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hand across Sam's face, knuckles catching on his chin. Sam shook and Dean was happy to see that Sam was laughing – silently – pulling Dean's hand into his own and holding it against his face wanting Dean to do it again and again.

"Mr Winchester," Sam's doctor was smiling but Dean never took that as a good sign. The doctor's always smiled – but sometimes it was the difference between polite, pity or hopeful and Dean could never really tell the difference. "Mr Winchester – we have Sam's test results – would you like to come to my office to discuss them?"

Dean bit his lip and he felt Sam tug at his hand, turning to see wet hazel eyes staring at him, the plea in them obvious.

"We should discuss them here," he said, decisive, "I don't want to hide anything from Sam."

"Mr Winchester," and there it was – the pity smile – "Your brother can't really understand….,"

Dean knew what the doctor was going to say but he didn't care. Perhaps Sam didn't understand – would never understand – but he was still Dean's brother and he still had rights.

"Just tell me doctor," he said, softly, so as not to upset Sam, "just tell me."

****

**Then**

Tests – endless and frustrating – and Sam – like a baby – unable to even go to the john – having to wear diapers – diapers at the age of thirty and it made Dean sick just thinking about it – wanting to help Sam – help him cope and maybe get better.

Dean knew he needed a permanent base and he broached the subject with Bobby cautiously. The old man just shook his head – angry.

"Didja really need to ask Idjet?" he growled and Dean smiled for the first time in so long it made his face ache.

When he came back to Bobby's a week later – someone had painted the back room bright yellow and hung curtains. The beds were covered in red quilts and there was a laptop on the table and some books in the bookcase. Dean didn't know if Sam would ever use the laptop or books but the thought was there and he stared at Bobby, throat full.

"Thanks," he said and Bobby's curt nod was the 'don't mention' it that Dean had been expecting.

****

**Now**

"The brain does seem to be healing a little," the doctor pointed to the chart and Dean nodded, pretending to understand. He had little knowledge of what they were doing – even saying to him – all he wanted was some sign that Sam might be more like – well Sam – again and he clung to the doctor's words like a drowning man to a lifebelt.

"What does that mean?" He broke finally and the doctor smiled at him – an odd smile that Dean couldn't place.

"Sam – he – there is room for progression – he is walking now – something we never thought would happen and – and he can feed himself and – and do the most basic of tasks,"

Dean swallowed and nodded, eyes slipping over to his brother who appeared to be listening, his usual blank expression replaced with something more recognisable – eyes a little brighter, mouth pursed.

For a moment Dean's breath caught in his throat. He wondered if his Sam was in there – if his Sam was coming back. He reached out and gripped Sam's hand again and Sam gripped back, a single tear threading down his flushed cheek, a tear that Dean quickly wiped away before he started bawling himself.

"We cannot even begin to tell you what his mental state is at this time. As you know – Sam is like a child – a blank slate – he has no real memories – and he has problems with people – he – he has tantrums and cannot control his emotions – but – but we believe that he could begin to communicate with you again – that he could perhaps re-learn some of his old skills."

"How?" Dean kept a tight hold on his emotions, his breath tight in his chest, "how can we achieve this?"

"Ah," the doctor looked down at his notes for a moment and Dean knew – just knew – he wasn't going to like what was coming next. "To achieve this we would have to have Sam assigned to a special unit – to someone better qualified and equipped to deal with his problems."

"I told you before Doc – I'm not letting my brother go – he – we – we belong together."

"I understand Mr Winchester – but for your brother's sake…"

Dean looked up again, looked at Sam. His brother looked scared, his eyes wild and fixed to Dean's face. Dean swallowed mouth dry. There was definitely something there – something tangible – something that was, most definitely, Sam.

****

**Then**

They took Sam out of hospital in a wheelchair.

The doctors had been against the move but Dean had steamrollered them, wanting only to get his brother in a familiar setting, wanting to get Sam home and safe.

Sam had improved a little; he still needed help in eating, still needed help in going to the john but he was more responsive, his eyes always fixed on Dean, prone to tears and tantrums when Dean wasn't around.

Sam – the doctor explained – had the mental capacity of a toddler. He couldn't walk or couldn't remember how to, he never made a sound when he was awake and that – oddly – hurt Dean more than anything.

Sam was never silent; Sam had always been the curious one – the cautious one – the one who soothed victims and fooled cops. Sam had been the clever one – the smart one – he had always had something to say.

Riding back to Bobby's in the Impala, Dean had glanced at Sam as he sat in the passenger seat. Sam's eyes were fixed on some distant point, his hands hanging lax in his lap, his mouth open a little, his breathing slow and shallow. At that point – Dean wondered if it were worth it – Dean wondered if it had ever been worth it and he thought – just once – of running the Impala into a tree and putting an end to it all.

****

**Now**

Dean signed the papers without a word.

When the medics came he helped them get Sam out of bed and up on his feet. Sam was watching Dean the entire time, his hand clasped around Dean's arm, his eyes so bright that Dean knew his brother was on the verge of tears.

"We have to do this Sam," Dean stroked his brother's fingers, throat so tight he thought he might choke, "the doctor promised me it is a good place – expensive – but hey – we can afford it – been saving for a while Sam – got a whole new batch of…," he lowered his voice, "well they don't have to know what we've got dude – but we've got enough."

Sam stared at him; Dean saw it now – saw the realisation dawning in Sam's eyes and he felt his heart leap even as his stomach plummeted.

"Let's do this Sammy," he whispered, "you'll be ok – I'll come as often as I can – I swear – we have to do this Sammy – we have to do this – because – I don't think I can live without YOU anymore…."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

** Now**

Dean sat in the Impala, head leaning on the steering wheel, loud rock playing on the radio.

The building in front of him was beautiful; set in carefully set gardens, the sun filtering in through the trees.

Somewhere behind the gauzy curtains was Sam and Dean wanted to go in, wanted to go in so badly. He had hated leaving his brother, had spent a whole week feeling as guilty as hell, drinking heavily and unable to sleep – but the doctors had said that it was _for the best_ and Dean wanted to do what was best for Sam – always had and always would and – now that deals were out of the question – this was all he had left.

The doctors had told him that his brother was too dependent on him, that Sam needed to be apart from Dean for awhile, that some time away from his brother was what Sam needed.

Listening to his brother's hoarse screams as he had walked away – Dean had not been convinced – it was the first noise he had heard Sam make since his illness – the first sounds he had heard from his brother's mouth in months. It was not what he wanted to hear – not what he needed to hear and – as he, virtually, ran down the corridor he was having problems hiding his anger and hiding his tears.

The two years at Stanford aside – Dean had barely been away from his brother. There was the two days Sam had been dead before his deal – the four months in hell – the weeks that Sam had been separated from him because he had thought it was for the best – but that was it.

They had always been close – maybe unnaturally so – but the way they had been brought up – the long hours in the car – the months spent on the road or in grubby motels – all those things had forced them together and had given Dean the one REAL purpose he had had in life – taking care of Sammy.

Somehow though – Sammy had gone from a chubby little boy who needed Dean to a grown man who had wanted to be treated as an equal. After the Apocalypse they had – finally – put aside the rift that Ruby had caused – and become brothers again – equals – partners in crime and Dean had been content – happy – and he had believed Sam was happy too.

Now it was as if they had gone back in time – slipped back to the days when Dean was the older brother – the protector – the caregiver and Sammy was the one needing protection and care. It had been harder than Dean had ever thought it could be and now – now it was just getting harder.

He wanted his brother near him – needed him – whatever or whoever Sammy was these days – he was still Dean's pain in the ass little brother and Dean wanted him back.

****

** Then**

Sam was nervous around anyone but Dean. He trembled and tried to hide his face in his brother's shoulder as soon as Bobby came close and Dean could see the pain in his friend's eyes as he realised just how bad Sam really was.

Sam cried; a lot. He was lost and vulnerable – unable to do anything for himself. Dean had to dress him – feed him – take him out for long walks in his wheelchair. Sam needed to learn even the basest of skills and Dean spent hours teaching him – teaching him how to hold a spoon – how to undo his pants – how to use the john.

There were accidents and more silent tears and Dean was almost at the end of his tether. It was clear Sam knew him and recognised him – but that was all there was – brief but wide smiles – followed by hours of tears and tantrums. Sometimes Bobby would sit by Sam whilst Dean grabbed a few hours sleep but as soon as Sam opened his eyes Dean had to be there and it was obvious and painful to see that Sam was more dependant on Dean than ever.

Dean was constantly tired, his body aching, his nerves shot, his mind always wandering. Sometimes he would dream of happier days – dream that he and Sam were back in the Impala again – riding off to a hunt – Dean tapping away to his mullet rock and Sam laughing – eyes bright and alert – Dean's little brother – his wingman – the only person in the entire world that Dean really trusted – his Sammy – his Sam…

****

** Now**

The corridor seemed endless but finally Dean found Sam's room.

It was bright and airy – a view over the gardens – sun shining through big windows, covering the whole place with a golden hue.

Sam sat in a chair by the window, staring out at the trees. He started as Dean entered and turned quickly, his eyes widening as he saw who it was, his mouth curving into a huge smile, dimples and white teeth, pure Sam.

"Sammy," Dean choked back tears and worry, "Looking good."

Sam cocked his head to one side and – slowly – rose to his feet and wobbled his way across the floor. Dean noticed that Sam was clean shaven – that he wore a pressed white shirt and soft denim jeans. He could see Ted poking out of Sam's top pocket and he gulped down his emotions, opening his arms and letting Sam step into his embrace.

"God Sam," Dean held his brother, held him tight – remembering all the other times – all the other hugs – after Sam's death – after Broward County – after hell – "God Sam – I've missed you so much."

Sam's arms tightened around Dean's back and Sam buried his head into Dean's neck, his soft hair brushing against Dean's cheek, his mouth moving.

"Dean," Sam said and – for a moment – time stood still…..

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

** Now**

Sam's very first word had been Dean – not dada or momma – just Dean – and after that he had used it over and over again just to get what he wanted.

Dean can feel Sam's breath on his neck, the strength of his arms wrapped around Dean like a baby hanging on to its mother. Dean felt tears forming in his eyes, a hot lump in his throat and he – carefully – pulled out of Sam's embrace for a moment so that he could look – directly – at his brother.

It was clear that Sam wasn't completely cured – it would have been foolish, hopeful to think he would be. Sam's big eyes were wide and bright, his long fingers twitched a little and he was swaying on his feet. Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders and held him there for a long moment, breathing in the sight.

"Sammy?"

Sam cocked his head to one side and plucked Ted from his pocket. He held the yellow bear against his cheek for a moment and then sat down on the bed. Dean sat next to him, wondering if he had been hearing things, wondering if his brother had really said his name or if he had just imagined it.

"Sam?" He said, again and – this time – his brother smiled.

"Dean," Sam spoke clearly, softly and Dean wanted to cry again. He put his arm around Sam and pulled him so that Sam could rest his head on Dean's shoulder. It must have been uncomfortable but Sam didn't seem to mind. He sighed and let Dean card his hand through his hair, fingers tangling in soft chestnut curls.

"Mr Winchester," it was a lady doctor, tall and elegant, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She smiled at Dean warmly and he smiled back, keeping his hand on Sam, not wanting to let go.

"He spoke," Dean was aware of sounding foolish, but the doctor just smiled at him some more.

"We have been working on that," she made some notes on her pad and sat down beside Dean, "haven't we Sam?"

Sam nodded and Dean saw something in those hazel depths that he hadn't seen in months – alight – interest – eagerness.

"Sam was very upset for the first few days – but – but we told him how proud you would be if he could talk to you," she patted Sam's knee and Sam grinned, dimples deep in his cheeks, "Sam – well – Sam only wants to please you Dean – you appear to be the centre of his world."

Dean flushed a little, feeling like a girl. He rubbed a hand through his hair.

"My dad is dead – my mom too – when I was just a kid – Sam – he is all I have – I am all he has – I – I thought I had lost him for good."

"Sam's brain has been severely damaged – but it is healing and he can get a little better," she kept her voice soft, "he will never quite be the person he was – I am not sure how much he remembers or will remember – but he does remember you Dean."

"I miss him," Dean confessed, his heart pounding.

"I know you do," she replied.

*****

** Then**

Sam may have been silent most of the time but it was the screaming that really got to Dean.

If Sam was away from Dean for more than a minute, the screams would start, high pitched wails, so bad that they set Dean's teeth on edge. Sam was like a child again and it was wearing Dean down.

Sam cried if he wet himself accidently, he cried if he spilt food on himself, he cried if Dean raised his voice or if Bobby tried to look after him. Dean realised that he had endless patience when it came to Sam and he spent hours with his brother, talking to him softly, reminding him of the good times they had had together, reminding him about how they had saved the world – how they had destroyed Lucifer. Sam didn't understand what Dean was saying but he understood his tone and – gradually – he began to calm down again – began to respond – to go to the john on his own, feed himself and – most importantly – let Bobby sit with him when Dean needed to sleep.

Dean knew that this wasn't his Sam – HIS Sammy – but he would take what he could get. At night he would lie next to his brother in Bobby's big bed and talk to him, telling him stories that Sam had always loved as a child, fairy tales and superheroes, content to see Sam smile, knowing that Sam was warm and safe and alive.

****

** Now**

Dean sat with Sam in the day room. His brother was colouring in – bright crayons scratching over the while paper, a look of pure concentration on his face. His tongue poked out between his teeth and he grinned up at Dean – slow and easy – the bear poking out of his pocket, worn now – the fur becoming patchy and thin.

"You like that?" Dean wondered if he would ever get used to Sam – his stubborn, intelligent, determined brother – being so child like – so innocent again and he sighed, wishing that they were making more progress.

Sam nodded; he pushed the paper and crayons over to Dean and Dean smiled, drawing a black car and two matchstick men standing next to it.

"You and me Sammy," Dean said with a grin and Sam smiled back, pointing to himself.

"Me," he said, suddenly, looking surprised as if he hadn't realised he could say the word.

Dean nodded, eyes watering, feeling like a stupid girl, his emotions all over the place.

"Yeah you Sammy," Dean rubbed his hands across Sam's hair.

"Me and you Dean," Sam said, clearly now, his eyes lighting up, his face soft and eager.

"Me and you," Dean felt hope surge inside of him and he pulled his brother close, laughing over and over, feeling Sam laugh along with him, his brother slowly returning from his long journey.

They were both holding on….

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

** Then**

The only way Dean could get Sam to sleep was to take him for long drives in the Impala.

As far as Sam was concerned – the Impala was home – the only home either of them had ever had – the only permanent one anyway – and Sam seemed happier there than anywhere else in the world.

After Sam used the john on his own for the first time, Dean took Sam out in the car – took Sam to the zoo. He didn't know why he decided to take Sam there, just wanted to reward his brother, wanted to show Sam how proud he was that Sam had mastered this one small thing.

It was a long drive but Sam didn't appear to mind. Dean played his rock music loud and tapped along to the beat, his fingers beating a tattoo on the steering wheel. He glanced to one side for a moment just to check if his brother was ok and the breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding over and over as he stared at Sam.

There were tears pouring slowly down Sam's cheeks, unchecked tears, silent tears and Dean couldn't understand what this meant, couldn't understand why his brother was crying.

He turned down his music and put his hand, gently, on Sam's knee. Sam looked up at him, hazel eyes cloudy and confused and – just for a moment – he saw some comprehension in Sam's gaze, he saw terror, pain and utter bewilderment and he pulled the car over, almost skidding it as he drew it to a halt and – without pause – pulled his brother into his arms and held him, held him tight without words, until Sam's tears stilled.

Dean knew then that Sam was still there somewhere – that Sam was fighting to get out – to get better and Dean swore he would help him, swore he wouldn't stop until he got Sam back again, until Sam was happy.

****

**Now**

Sam looked miserable as Dean prepared to leave him again.

He hated this, hated that he couldn't stay with his brother but the nurses and the doctors and even the frigging specialists insisted that it was good for Sam, that it was good for both of them. Dean couldn't argue with them, not really. Sam had improved in leaps and bounds and if it meant that they were apart for a while then so be it. Dean wanted his Sam back and if this was the only way then – then he would have to suck it up.

Sam was quiet but he wasn't crying. He sat in his chair by the window, Ted on his lap, his eyes fixed on the Impala, bright and knowing.

"I wish – I wish you could come with me Sammy," Dean murmured and Sam turned to look at him, mouth curving into a slight smile.

"Yeah," Sam's voice was soft, hoarse, "me too."

Dean swallowed; there was a lump in his throat again and it hurt him to speak.

"It won't be too much longer Sammy – I swear."

"Ride shotgun again?" Sam said, suddenly and Dean nodded, vision blurred, "driver picks the music?"

"Yeah Sam," Dean forced a grin onto his face, forced himself to look carefree, "that rule still stands."

"I want to go home," Sam said and his voice shook a little, his mouth quivering, hovering on the verge of tears, "I miss you Dean."

"I miss you too bro – but it is good for you here – you – you are getting so much better Sammy – so much better."

"I'll never hunt again though will I?" It was the first time since his illness that Sam had mentioned hunting and Dean felt his heart beating faster, his stomach lurch. He hadn't intended they ever hunt again – either of them – he had thought it was impossible – that it was foolish. He had had enough – he wanted them both alive – both as complete as they could be.

"No Sam," he knelt at his brother's feet and put his hand on Sam's knee. The yellow fur of Ted brushed against his fingers and he stroked the bear's head, feeling how threadbare he was now, how loved.

"Will you leave me Dean?" There was fear in Sam's voice and Dean suddenly understood, comprehension dawning.

"No Sam," he shook his head, fingers digging into Ted's fur, "I'll never leave you dude – never – you are more important to me than hunting – I don't care if we never see another freaking monster – as long as you get better."

Sam shook himself visibly and stared down at Dean, hazel eyes bright now, dimples showing in his cheeks.

"I'll be here when you come again Dean," he said, finally, "I'll be here."

"I know," Dean got to his feet and rubbed his fingers though Sam's soft hair, far too long now, "I know."

****

Bobby was waiting for him on the porch, a beer in his hand. Dean took it gratefully and gulped the cold liquid down gratefully.

"How is he boy?" Bobby's voice was gruff yet concerned, his eyes knowing.

"He is – he isn't Sam yet," Dean said, "but he's getting there."

"Good," Bobby stared out into the evening and Dean followed his gaze, watching the sun set against the bleeding sky, the whole landscape a cascade of colour, "so he'll be coming home soon."

"Yeah," Dean grinned then, imagining putting down roots here, building a little house next to Bobby's yard, maybe buying a dog, getting a job as a mechanic or even trying his hand at farming, "he'll be coming home soon."

And he meant it…..

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

** Now**

Dean hung the sign over the doorway and stepped back, eyes on the bright red lettering.

"Do you think he'll like it Bobby?" He asked, head on one side, wondering if the **Welcome Home Sam** was even enough and large enough.

"Sure," Bobby blew up the last of the balloons, face red, "he'll love it."

"I can't wait to have him back," Dean grinned happily as he surveyed their handiwork. The sign, enough balloons to last for years, sandwiches, soda, chips and salad – all the things Sam liked. "He is getting so much better Bobby, you wait and see."

Bobby shook his head and smiled.

"Sure will be good to have him back," he said, finally, "you two boys have been like family to me and – to be frank with ya – I missed the pair of you something awful when you were away."

"We ain't goin' anywhere again," Dean gave Bobby a swift grin, "We have given so much – too much – and I figure we deserve to rest now – soon as Sammy feels up to it we are gonna go on a road trip that doesn't involve monsters, ghosts or spirits – just me and Sam and my baby – seeing some of the things we have always wanted to see – hey," he gave Bobby a wink, "you could come too old man – room in the trunk for a fold down wheelchair and two strong men – strong enough to push an elderly hunter around anyhow."

"Enough of the old and the elderly," Bobby pretended to bristle with anger but the good humour on his face gave him away, "we'll see Dean – let's just get Sam home and settled – then we can all make plans."

****

Sam was waiting for him by the door of the clinic, his duffle at his feet, Ted tucked into his pocket for safety. As soon as the Impala pulled into the drive, Sam began to wave eagerly, his eyes bright and alive with joy and happiness. Dean squealed to a stop and opened the passenger door.

"You ready to roll Sammy?" He said, winking at the nurse who was waiting with his brother and getting a wink in return.

"Yeah Dean – please – take me home," Sam was – virtually – vibrating with excitement, "I can go home now can't I?" He looked at the nurse as if she might change her mind, "please."

"Of course Sam – you can go home – now remember – remember all we have learnt the last few weeks. Try to read a few pages of your book a day, go out for a walk with your brother, eat all the things that are good for you and be honest with Dean – if you don't remember anything or know anything – you be sure to tell him."

Sam nodded and Dean grinned as his brother threw the duffle in the back of the car and slipped into the passenger seat, long fingers curling around the dashboard, stroking his baby like she was the most precious thing in the world.

"Let's go," Sam said and he sounded more like Sam than he had in months, making Dean swallow hard so that his eyes were clear enough to drive.

"Yeah Sammy," he said with a smile, "Lets hit the road," and he put his foot on the gas and floored it….

****

Dean watched – with keen interest – as Sam fired up the laptop and moved his fingers over the keys. Sam looked healthy – happy – and in need of a really good hair cut and Dean couldn't stop looking at his brother, watching Sam for signs of distress – of confusion – but there were none and Sam seemed so much better, able to wash, dress and feed himself, able to read a little and even use his laptop again.

"What are you lookin' for Sam?" Dean crouched at his brother's side, "we are done with hunting – you remember?"

"Wanted to find places to visit on our road trip," Sam grinned at Dean, all white teeth and dimples, "I – um – I wanted to go to Disneyland and – um – Bobby wanted to visit the Everglades – then – well I know you wanted to go to the Grand Canyon right?"

"You – you remember that?" Dean could barely believe it – it had been years since that time in River Grove – the day he thought he was going to lose Sam – the demon virus and the nurse who made Sam bleed. Yet now – now Sam remembered and it was nothing short of a miracle.

"Yeah – you were – scared – I was scared too – but you wanted to go to the Grand Canyon and now we can go," Sam's logic was simple and childlike – but Dean didn't care – his brother was talking to him, his brother was remembering and his brother was getting better – it was everything he had wanted and more and he wasn't gonna push it by wanting anything else.

"We are going to have the best trip ever," Dean said, rising to his feet and stretching out his arms and legs, his heart leaping in his chest as Sam smiled at him, hazel eyes clear and bright, no misery or confusion, just hope and happiness and love…

****

The weather was clear and hot, the sky as blue as sapphires, not a cloud to mar its beauty.

Dean pulled the Impala into one of the free parking spots and pulled Bobby's chair from out of the trunk. Beside him, Sam shouldered out of his flannel, his bare arms muscular and brown in the grey tee-shirt that he wore, his long hair fluffing out across his shoulders, his whole body straight and strong.

"This is awesome," Sam breathed as he stood at the edge of the canyon, "I never – never imagined it to be so big."

Dean had no words; he was overcome with the beauty of it all, the wildness, the sheer size. He had imagined this moment so often in his dreams but reality was even better – to be here – alive – with Sam and Bobby by his side – it was heaven on earth and Dean looked to the heavens – wondering if – for once – God was actually smiling down on them.

"I like your bear," a little girl, no older than five, pulled at Sam's jeans. Ted poked out of the back pocket as patchy and as threadbare as ever – still as ugly as the day Dean had brought him and still as loved.

Sam cocked his head to one side and Dean saw the sudden light in those soft hazel eyes. Sam would never be his geek boy brother again – he was better but he would never be completely cured. Sam was still innocent in so many ways – still more like the young boy Dean remembered caring for all those years ago – but still Sammy – still Sam.

Sam paused for a moment and pulled the bear out of his pocket. He hunkered down and handed the creature over to the little girl, his mouth curving into a gentle smile.

"This is Ted," he said, softly, the voice he had often used to comfort the people they saved, "he has been my best friend in the world – but – but I don't need him anymore and he wants a good home – do you – do you want to look after him?"

Dean gulped and he lifted a hand.

"Sam…," he began but his brother shook his head, smiling as the little girl took Ted and hugged him to her, her eyes bright and happy, her fingers curling into sparse fur.

"It's ok," Sam said, his expression so SAM that it made Dean's heart ache, "we – we are together forever right? No more monsters – no more running – no more hunting. I have you and I have Bobby – I don't want – or need – anything else."

Dean watched as Sam waved goodbye to Ted and then he went up to his brother and threw an arm around his shoulders, the two of them watching the sun shine bright over the canyon, their whole world stretching in front of them – endless and vast.

They had been holding on for long enough – now it was time for them to let go and look to the future…..

End


End file.
